


The Inside Connection

by Mums_the_Word



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Gen, Murder, Narcotic Busts, Reputations, Tenuous State of Détente Between Two Adversaries, pre-series AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:29:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29331606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mums_the_Word/pseuds/Mums_the_Word
Summary: The cat and mouse game between a young criminal and a determined FBI agent is in full swing, but the rules of the contest change when Neal Caffrey is being hunted for murdering a New York cop. Peter thought he had Neal all figured out, however maybe he was wrong. Of course, it all starts with a confrontation, but on Neal's terms.
Relationships: Neal Caffrey & Mozzie, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 12
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

“You’re not going to shoot me, Agent Burke,” Neal Caffrey said with a certain degree of swaggering confidence as he faced his pursuer in a dirty deserted tunnel under Wall Street.

“You sure about that, Caffrey?” Peter replied menacingly.

“Yes, I think I am. A by-the-book FBI Agent would never shoot an unarmed man,” was the taunting reply.

“Well, maybe a well-placed bullet to the kneecap of a fleeing suspect wanted for murdering an NYPD cop might slow that man down,” Peter said evenly as he pointed his Sig Saur a bit lower than center mass.

Caffrey actually had the audacity to smile. “Are you really that good of a marksman, Agent Burke?”

“Do you really want to gamble to find out?”

Neal shrugged. “I’ve taken a lot of chances in my life, and the odds are usually in my favor,” the young criminal boasted. “But before we take this any further, I want to set the record straight. I didn’t kill anybody. You, of all people, should know that’s not who I am.”

“I know that you’re a con man, a forger, and a thief, so why should I be surprised that you’ve taken it to the next level?” Peter asked what he thought was a rational question. “We have a cop’s statement that you were the one responsible for killing his partner.”

“Don’t assume everything you’ve heard is gospel, Buddy. Everybody has an agenda,” Neal said quite seriously.

Peter shook his head. “Caffrey, just give it up and come quietly. There’s absolutely no way out for you. You’re actually looking at your savior because right now the NYPD is ready to eat you alive because you killed one of their own.”

Caffrey didn’t show any sign of relenting. “Why would I even think about targeting one of New York’s finest? Surely that doesn’t make any sense to you. Since I don’t like puzzles, I decided to do a little investigating myself. I discovered that the cop who was shot _and_ his partner were dirty, Agent Burke. They made a deal with the devil, but when they got greedy, an example had to be made by some very dangerous people.”

“Is there anything you can’t try to justify with that glib tongue of yours?” Peter huffed.

“It’s the truth,” Neal kept pushing. “Both of those officers worked in Narcotics and they had a deal in place with the Latin Kings, a gang who practically has a monopoly on the drug trade here in the city. The dirty cops would tip them off when a raid or an imminent bust was in the works. It was working pretty well for a while, but my guess is those two members of New York’s Narco Squad got bold and demanded more money to continue being accommodating. To show that they were serious, they were stupid enough to send out feelers to MS-13, a rival gang active up in Long Island. Those dudes have been chomping at the bit to make inroads into Manhattan. The Boys in Blue tried to play one against the other to get the best deal. One cop paid the ultimate price to make sure the other partner stays in line.”

“So, you’re just an innocent scapegoat in all this?” Peter mocked.

“Exactly,” Neal agreed.

“So why did this _“dirty”_ cop decide to pin it on poor, little innocent you?” a dubious agent asked sarcastically.

Caffrey snorted in disgust. “Because I was a _handy_ scapegoat! Thanks to an APB set in motion by you guys for some extraneous museum art theft, my name is currently being bantered around all of law enforcement like gossip at a coffee klatch. But I take exception to being labeled a murderer because it tarnishes my image.”

Now it was Neal’s wary adversary who demanded to know, “Well, if what you say has even a grain of truth, how did you come by this damning information?”

Neal grinned. “On occasion it is necessary for me to travel in different circles than you, Agent Burke, in order to glean knowledge that only the street knows. Having an inside connection can be invaluable. It may be a bit degrading to my reputation to sometimes stoop that low, but make no mistake, I am a dedicated White Collar criminal, through and through. That’s a more gentlemanly niche, don’t you think?”

“Stop babbling nonsense, Caffrey. You’re just trying to distract me from the real question. If what you’re trying to sell me is valid, you had to have a source. If you want me to take you seriously, who is this shady character that managed to find out all this dirt? Cough up a name!”

“Peter, I can’t make it easy for you. No Deep Throats for the mighty FBI. Earn your pay and ferret out the rotten apples yourself. I would suggest following the money trail.”

“It’s Agent Burke to you!” Peter growled. “Now, just stop with the nebulous innuendo because this discussion is over. Put your hands on your head and get on your knees because I’m though playing with you. I’m taking your ass in right now.”

“I don’t think so,” Neal whispered as he took a few steps backward and then disappeared though a small alcove. By the time Peter raced forward, his quarry had vanished like an apparition.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So, let me picture this,” the Precinct Commander of the NYPD seethed after he paid a visit to Reese Hughes, and Peter had been called on the carpet. “You had the murdering perp standing right in front of you, supposedly unarmed, and you opted to just have a cozy little chat before you let him walk away?”

“It’s all in my report,” Peter said quietly, although not every detail had been included in that official document. Just in case there was any truth to Caffrey’s accusations, Peter didn’t want to tip his hand.

Hughes chose to defend his subordinate. “Commander, I can appreciate the gravity of the situation, but the FBI _apprehends_ and _detains_ suspects for questioning,” the old man intoned solemnly. “This is not Chicago during the Ness era, so we don’t just go in with guns blazing and let the bodies fall where they may. Agent Burke acted according to protocol.”

“And he let a cop killer slip through his fingers,” the NYPD chief huffed as he turned towards the door and added a parting shot. “Now, let me reassure _you_ , Agent Hughes, the NYPD will not be so careless when we find the little bastard. He’s going to go down hard!”

Peter looked at his boss, who held up a hand after the angry man’s departure. “Just go back to your team, Peter, and do what you do to find Caffrey again.”

Peter nodded his head but he doubted that they could get a bead on the slippery young criminal if he had gone deep underground in some nefarious network of cohorts who actually did have a sort of honor code. Of course, to cover his ass, he had Jones exploring all their CI connections and beating the bush to make it look good. Then a strange thought popped into a puzzled man’s head. Did Neal Caffrey actually engineer that chance encounter in an old defunct subway tunnel, courtesy of an anonymous tip that landed on Peter’s phone just as he left his townhome in Brooklyn that morning? Did the cheeky and sometimes brazen thief want a face-to-face to plead his case? Why would a fugitive stick around when he should have been hightailing his way out of the city, the state, and probably the country? It didn’t make any sense, unless …?

Peter walked out into the bullpen and stood beside Diana Berrigan’s desk. “Let’s go out for coffee,” he said nonchalantly to his favorite probie.

Diana gave her boss a curious look because this was really out of character. She preferred tea, never coffee, and Peter knew that. And Peter certainly wasn’t hitting on her because he was also aware of her sexual orientation. It all became a bit clearer under an umbrella in a little café situated right in Federal Plaza with the FBI offices looming over them from high up in the skyscraper.

“Diana, we have to do some internet dumpster diving under the radar. We can use some of our resources here at the Bureau, but we can’t keep a lid on the pot we’re possibly stirring for very long. So, what I’m asking you to do is go off book, and the bulk of the fact finding may have to be done on your own personal computer at home. You can certainly say no, and I’ll understand if that seems too much of a stretch.”

“Why do I think this has something to do with Neal Caffrey?” Diana asked quietly.

“Because it does,” Peter admitted. “He claims that he’s innocent regarding this cop murder and insists it was gang related.” Peter then went on to fill her in.

“And you believe him?” Diana asked the obvious question.

“Let’s just say I have an open mind to the possibility at this juncture. Caffrey’s committed a lot of crimes, but never anything violent. His tongue is the most offensive weapon he’s ever used, but even his marks speak fondly of him, especially the women. The men, on the other hand, usually wind up admitting a grudging respect for his clever finesse.”

“So, to your way of thinking, the two cops are the wild cards,” Diana mused.

“I can’t rule that out until we take their lives apart, especially financially,” her boss acknowledged.

“You usually have good gut instincts about these things, Boss, so I’m in,” the young woman agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~

After two days of clandestine spelunking, both at the Bureau and at home, Peter and his probie had come up empty handed. Each of the veteran policemen seemed squeaky clean, were living within their means, and doing nothing on a regular basis except bowling together on a neighborhood league. Both lived in older houses that still had mortgages, drove mid-priced sedans while their wives tooled around in minivans, and took summer vacations with their families to the beach in Jersey. They had their paychecks directly deposited into modest bank accounts, and had funds taken out for retirement and invested by the local broker provided by the Policeman’s Union. Life insurance amounted to just what the job offered as a perk, with no extra policies. Neither partner had a gambling addiction or problems with alcohol or drugs. They had never been written up at their jobs for anything.

“I’ve hit a wall, Peter,” Diana confessed. “If there’s something there, it’s wedged down deep below the surface.”

“Okay, then I guess Caffrey was blowing smoke to knock me off my game,” Peter admitted.

“We’ll catch him, Peter,” Diana tried to sound upbeat, even though this version of “Tag, You’re It” had been going on for years and she had her doubts.

~~~~~~~~~~

The very next day saw a lot of pomp and circumstance as a fallen police officer was laid to rest. Comrades turned out in full dress blues and saluted the coffin as it emerged from the cathedral being borne on the shoulders of solemn fellow cops. There was the wail of bagpipes playing “Amazing Grace” and a rifle salute as he was lowered into the ground at the outlying cemetery. Neal Caffrey was now the most wanted man in New York City, and the brazen fugitive deigned to turn up in the most unlikely place—a hunter’s townhome in Brooklyn.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter had been asleep in bed that fateful night when something awakened him. El was lying on her side snoring lightly, so he quietly slipped from under the covers and went beyond their bedroom to stand stock-still on the landing. He was able to make out the clicking little tap dance of Satchmo’s toenails on the kitchen floor, and he cautiously crept down the stairs to see what had the Lab all excited. He had just rounded the bottom stair newel when the light flicked on over his dining table to reveal Neal Caffrey nonchalantly holding a gun in his hand. And it wasn’t just any gun being pointed in Peter’s direction; he recognized it as his own which he had carefully locked away in the gun safe in the hall before retiring for the night.

“Tell me how it feels to have the shoe on the other foot?” Caffrey asked with a cynical smile.

“It feels like I should have shot you the last time we met,” Peter snapped.

“C’mon, Peter, you know you don’t mean that. You’re too much of a Boy Scout to ignore the rules,” Neal taunted.

“Why are you here?” Peter demanded, not even trying to scold Neal for using his first name familiarly as if they were old pals. “Have you decided to finally play it smart and turn yourself in? If so, then hand over my weapon unless you intend to use it.”

“Not quite yet, because if I did that, I wouldn’t feel completely sure that I would have your undivided attention,” the young fugitive said as if that was a perfectly logical assumption.

“Oh, believe me, _Neal_ , when someone points a gun at me, I’m paying attention,” Peter sniped.

“Okay, so now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s take a seat, Agent Burke, because I’m about to enlighten you about the facts of life—specifically, a certain cop’s life as well as his partner’s.” Neal then pushed a large tan envelope across the table in Peter’s direction.

Peter tried to stare Neal down. “I don’t know what’s in there, but it can’t be anything damning because I’ve gone over their lives with a fine tooth comb and didn’t find even a hint of anything hinky,” he insisted.

Neal lifted an eyebrow and stared. “Perhaps your resources aren’t as thorough as mine, so I guess that old adage is true. If you want the job done right, you have to do it yourself. Go on, Peter, take a look, just to pacify me.”

Peter was contrary enough to cross his arms over his chest and glare without moving one finger towards what Caffrey claimed was the smoking gun.

Neal gave a theatrical sigh after a few minutes into the battle of wills. “Fine, I’ll give you the broad strokes,” he huffed, “and then I’ll leave everything for you to confirm. Both of those two cops were chimeras. In case you’re not familiar with that word, it means deceptive creatures bearing men’s faces but with scaly tails and duplicitous agendas. On the outside, they appear to be exactly what you would expect to see. But I’ve managed to delve below the squeaky clean veneer.”

Peter looked unmoved and remained silent, so Neal continued. “I have a very talented hacker friend who followed the money, just like I told you to do in the first place. My very able assistant uncovered a lot of hidden assets. Did you know that the cop who was killed owned a beachfront five bedroom vacation home in Avalon, New Jersey? It’s assessed value is on file in that municipality and the property taxes are based on a conservative $2.5 million estimate. The guy was slick. He put the house in his stepfather’s name, which is different from his, and a little further digging found the old guy languishing in a nursing home in Trenton suffering from Alzheimer’s. Do you want me to go on?”

“Can I stop you?” Peter answered grumpily, not owning up to the fact that he was intrigued.

“Probably not,” Neal grinned irritatingly. “So, to get on with the story, the dead cop’s partner was also nefarious. Not to be outdone by his crony, he took a similar path. He owns property under a shell corporation near Atlantic City in Margate that developers have been trying to get their hands on for years to build a retirement community. The dirty cop is holding out for more money. But he still manages to have fun during his vacation time taking out his sleek catamaran from a nearby marina, and that little play toy is valued at close to a million.”

“Are you hinting that you can prove all of this?” Peter demanded to know. “Where’s the evidence in the form of actual financial means? We couldn’t find it using Bureau resources.”

Suddenly Neal looked pleased. “So, you did think I was telling the truth during out last encounter. I knew we had a connection.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, kiddo," Peter objected. “I was doing my due diligence and just following up on a rumor.”

“Well, if that’s the way you want to spin it, I’m not going to call you out,” Neal continued to grin while Peter frowned.

“Did I ever tell you that you’re irritating as hell?” Peter snarked.

“Moving on,” the young criminal sang out. “Since you and your colleagues seem to be a tad stymied and unable to discover where the funds are stashed away to maintain this level of the good life, I’ll give you a really big hint. Try looking in the Cayman’s, Agent Burke, under their wives’ maiden names. I always strive to be helpful, so I’ve included the specific routing numbers and bank balances. Take a gander and you’ll see for yourself. That pair of good old boys had a sweet thing going and were just waiting for retirement to live like kings far from New York City.”

Peter had remained sitting stoically through this whole, long-winded dissertation. “That’s quite a tale, Caffrey, but that’s all it is without actual bona fide and admissible proof. Are you gonna try to sell me the Brooklyn Bridge next?”

Neal shook his head in disappointment. “I knew you’d be a hard ass, my friend. Now, as I’m sure you probably suspect, all of this was obtained illegally, but perhaps you can get creative to circumvent some of those pesky obstacles. You need to somehow expose the two cops’ duplicity to the light. If you find yourself still floundering, maybe a certain MS-13 soldier, with the promise of anonymity, might be accommodating enough to fill your ear about his hated enemies—the Latin Kings, and how they chose to punish certain wheeler-dealers with greedy egos. He may even feel magnanimous and throw out the name of the rival gang’s assassin.”

Peter looked skeptical, to say the least. “Caffrey, you’re a very talented forger. Everything contained in that envelope could be your bogus creations.”

“I’d never lie to you, Agent Burke.”

Well, that got a laugh out of Peter. “Why go to all this trouble, Caffrey? Why stick around when you’re radioactive?”

“Because I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a killer, and I want the record set straight. And I just happen to have a thing about dirty cops,” was all Neal was willing to admit.

“What kind of thing,” Peter asked curiously.

“It’s personal, so I’d rather not say,” Neal shrugged.

Peter let the minutes linger before capitulating. “Fine, I’ll look into whatever you claimed you found, but not while you’re holding me at gunpoint.”

“I guess that’s the best I can hope for,” Neal said brightly as he suddenly stood up, gave Satchmo a fond pat, and slowly backed towards the kitchen door.

“Sorry to have interrupted your beauty sleep,” he said as he made his exit and disappeared into the night. Peter quickly followed, but Neal had evaporated into the darkness. Peter’s gun was sitting on the patio table glinting in the moonlight, and when he quickly grabbed it and examined it closely, he found the magazine was devoid of bullets as was the chamber. All the miffed FBI agent could do was sigh in frustration.

~~~~~~~~~~

Peter knew he had to move this thing up the food chain because his government GS 14 classification had him hamstrung well below where he needed to go in this witch hunt. Of course, there was a process to move forward, and he gingerly approached Reese Hughes, the next rung on that ladder. He provided the old man with Caffrey’s data, actually glossing over how he had obtained it and referring to the con man as an anonymous source. But Hughes was sharp and not easily fooled.

“It was Caffrey, wasn’t it?” he demanded to know.

Peter shrugged self-consciously before nodding.

“What the hell is it with you two?” Hughes growled. “You’re like a weird reincarnation of the _Hardy Boys_ trying to solve crimes.”

“Who?” Peter asked in confusion.

“Never mind—it’s before your time,” Hughes mumbled. “But to get back to the issue, this alleged crime doesn’t even fall within our purview.”

“Reese, a crime is a crime, and if the guilty person goes unpunished, then nobody is doing their job,” Peter tried to justify his interest.

“I believe that Neal Caffrey is guilty of a lot of crimes that have gone unpunished,” Hughes stated with a raised eyebrow. “Tell me I’m wrong!”

“But not this crime—not a murder. He wants his reputation wiped clean of that allegation,” Peter insisted.

Hughes shook his head in frustration. “Peter, why do you care about a snotnosed little con artist’s reputation? Has he succeeded in conning you?”

“Look, Reese, I know this sounds off the wall, but Caffrey is brilliant and savvy, and if he just happens to have deep insights which may have merit, then I think it’s my—I mean, the Bureau’s—responsibility to either validate or refute them. I’ve gone as far as I can go, but there are a lot of locked doors in my way.”

“And you think I have the power to unlock them for you?” Peter’s boss asked pointedly.

When Peter only shrugged half-heartedly, the old man asked pointblank, “Peter, tell me honestly, do you really want to catch Caffrey?”

“Of course, but for the right reasons,” was the quick answer.

Hughes was thoughtful. “Let me make this perfectly clear,” he began. “I can move this forward, but it will be a tedious bit of finagling and calling in markers, and it may all be for nothing if you and your new little buddy are wrong. If that happens, your career could take a very big hit, Peter. I’ll protect you for as long as I can, but there are limits. Is it worth it to you to endanger your future for some insistent and conniving young forger?”

Peter was adamant. “I think I have to know if there’s been a miscarriage of justice and some ugly coverup in the NYPD. If that’s the case, then it gives every law enforcement agency a bad name. I don’t know about the next guy, but I don’t like being played like somebody’s patsy.”

“Let’s hope you’re not Neal Caffrey’s patsy,” Hughes drawled ominously.

~~~~~~~~~~

Reese Hughes maintained certain contacts in Homeland Security as well as in the Treasury Department. Both institutions had been given a wide latitude to run investigations after the terrorist attack on September 11th two decades ago. After that heinous act, the Department of the Treasury had initiated something called the _“Terrorist Finance Tracking Program,”_ more commonly known as “ _TFTP”_ to make it less of a linguistics exercise. The purpose of TFTP was to identify, track, and pursue terrorists and their networks. As part of its vital national security mission, the U.S. Treasury Department can issue subpoenas to banking institutions worldwide in order to review information as part of their investigations. By following the money, the TFTP allows the U.S. and its allies to identify and locate operatives and their financiers, chart terrorist networks, and help keep money out of their hands. 

Hughes was used to dealing with bureaucrats who cherished their acronyms, and he was ready to cut to the chase with some old comrades in arms from the past. As he had told Peter, some debts were owed, and Hughes took advantage of that to request financial dossiers on two specific persons of interest, not exactly stating they were suspected terrorists, but not refuting it either. Big Brother took the bait and the results were enlightening, to say the least.

~~~~~~~~~~

One week later, the New York Police Commissioner and an FBI Special Agent in Charge were sharing a Sunday brunch in the Crystal Room of the upscale “Tavern On The Green” located in Central Park. As they drank their mimosas and nibbled Eggs Benedict, there was only so long that they could avoid the elephant in the room.

“I appreciate that you brought this travesty to my attention in an unofficial capacity, Agent Hughes,” the Commissioner finally acknowledged with a tight smile.

“It’s a courtesy the Bureau is affording you to get your house in order,” Hughes said plainly.

“And we will certainly do that in a _discrete_ manner. Do you know how foolish we would look if this was splashed all over the news? The NYPD brass and the Mayor just gave one of ours a hero’s send off, and now you want us to say, _“Um, excuse our little faux pas, folks, but he wasn’t actually a good guy. He was really a crook facilitating the drug trade on our streets.”_

“If the shoe fits, then that’s exactly what you should do. And if you find that it is too much of an embarrassing imposition, the FBI will do it for you,” Hughes threatened.

“Look, Agent Hughes,” the Commissioner said as he held up a placating hand. “Steps have already been taken. Internal Affairs has gotten involved. There will be repercussions, I can assure you, but we’d much prefer to keep it quiet and in-house. Surely, you can understand our position.”

“Yes, between a rock and a hard place,” Hughes agreed, “which gives me a lot of bargaining power. If I can be reassured that justice is being administered to the remaining dirty cop, then I can possibly let sleeping dogs lie except for one small matter.”

“And that would be?” the Commissioner asked, almost in dread.

“I want a public statement issued by you that, thanks to new intel that has come to light, the wanted criminal known as Neal Caffrey is not responsible for a certain Narcotics detective’s death. That is something that I _do_ want splashed all over the news. You can spin the tale anyway you’d like, maybe blame it on some tweaker high on dope. I’m sure you can get creative.”

“Done!” came the relieved response.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you happy now, Peter?” Hughes asked his ASAC not long after the retraction about Caffrey’s guilt in a murder case was made public.

“Well, maybe feeling satisfied is more apt,” Peter replied, using the exact same word Neal had used when he had contacted Peter by phone last night. Neal was finally _satisfied_ that his reputation regarding violence had remained pristine. Thank you, Agent Burke!

“But you’re not satisfied that the little fiend is still at large,” Hughes continued wisely. “I may have heard from Interpol that he was spotted in Belgium just yesterday. Now that he’s out of reach, you’re really not happy because you want him around so that you’re the only one chasing him and the only one to arrest him.”

“That was the plan and still is,” Peter admitted.

“Why Caffrey, Peter? What makes him so special to you? There have been other smart criminals on your agenda, but you can’t seem to let this one go.”

Peter grimaced. “I suppose with him, it’s like a challenging chess game of one-upmanship. He’s quite a player and I guess my ego won’t allow me to back down from our competition.”

“Just out of curiosity, did he ever divulge his inside connection during any of your little chats?” Hughes asked curiously.

“No, he was never that forthcoming,” Peter shrugged.

“That’s a pity. The Bureau could use someone with talents like that,” Hughes said under his breath.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Happy now?” Mozzie was currently asking his young friend as they had dinner in a restaurant in Antwerp. “You’ve gotten your name cleared—at least as far as being touted as a murderer.”

“Yep, and, as you insisted, I kept your identity secret whenever I spoke with Agent Burke,” Neal smiled.

“Maybe that’s a pity,” the little bald man mused. “I always thought of myself as _The Shadow_ , a rather ominous sobriquet that hinted at being ethereal yet effectual. But perhaps being known as _The Inside Connection_ in the halls of the august Suits is sort of more dramatic and contemporary. Ah, well, c’est la vie—it’s the FBI’s loss! Now, mon frère, let us discuss this unhealthy obsession you have with a certain law enforcement individual!”


End file.
